


Sullen

by herbailiwick



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Image, Drawing, M/M, Painting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 21:46:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/740505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <a href="http://askboxmemes.tumblr.com/post/31099194023/even-more-drabbles">
    <em>"Leave a “<strong>Paint Me</strong>” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about one character drawing a picture of another."</em>
  </a>
</p><p> </p><p>Bobby isn't very comfortable with his body. Not at first, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sullen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [amayakumiko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/amayakumiko/gifts).



"This is really stupid," Bobby complained. He pulled at his t-shirt a little, but tried to hold as still as possible.

"No, Bobby," Sam said, adjusting the hair tie his hair kept flicking dangerously toward the canvas without, "it's not."

"You should wait til Dean gets back and do him instead."

"Look." Sam erased a line carefully, redrew it just a tad to the right. "I get that this might be a little time-consuming. But you told me you're free, and that you'd do this. I'm not saying you can't change your mind, but if this is about," he shrugged, "some kind of hang-up, you've got nothing to worry about."

"Yeah, well, I've seen you paint," said Bobby, squirming.

"You're the one who said take a couple classes. This is kinda on you."

"First fucking time you've taken my advice in your life." Bobby huffed out a breath, then allowed, "But, hey. At least you've been improving."

"Ha. Yeah. Thanks."

"Are you done sketchin' yet?"

"No. Yes. Almost. Look, what's your issue, anyway? I can call in another hunter, if you can't get the job done." He paused, the tip of the graphite resting on the paper. 

"Oh, I can get the job done," Bobby said. "You think I ain't ever sat still in the bushes waiting for Bambi to come by? No, I'm worried about _your_ abilities here, not mine."

"You know, Bobby, I don't think you think I'll do a bad job," Sam declared, chewing slightly at the inside of his cheek as he concentrated on mapping out the shapes of Bobby and the couch. "I think you're worried I'll do a good job, and that it'll look like you."

That got him a sullen-faced Bobby for the rest of the twenty minutes before Bobby's break. But sullen...worked, actually. In fact...oh, Sam was so going to Hell, again, for the third time, and not to rescue anyone, to stay there, but it was going to be worth it to get such a great picture. 

So Sam sort of pissed Bobby off periodically until sullen and stony and determinedly-staring-ahead was what he got of Bobby.

And thus, he created his finest masterpiece to date.

***

Bobby awkwardly smiled at a couple of the Strangers Who Liked Art who were hanging around and curled a hand around Sam's arm, pulling him over behind one of the big dividers. "So?" he asked. "Any developments?"

Sam bit his lip. "Um. I lied."

"You _lied?_ "

"Yeah. Wanted you here. There's really no magic paintbrush here." Sam frowned slightly. "At least, I don't think."

"I'm seriously gonna kick your ass," Bobby said darkly. "I said this wasn't my scene, okay?"

"I know I might really pay the price for this," Sam winced. "I totally get that. But I thought if you could just see the way people are responding to it."

"Yeah, with pity," Bobby joked, only it wasn't a joke. 

Sam reached out, cupped Bobby's cheek for a sincere moment of time, then let the hand return to his side. "I'm sorry for pissing you off when I had you modeling for me."

"Yeah, I know you are. That's why you've been trying to make it up to me ever since." There had been little favors here and there. Sam was transparent like that, but Bobby found transparency better than the alternative. "But, lemme tell you: This ain't helpin'."

Sam nodded. "If I'm in the doghouse for a while, so be it. I accept that. You just...looked really...intense. And I didn't really know how else to get you to stay looking angry except by pissing you off here and there, subtly. But, it turned out nice. I know you don't like it, but I thought, maybe if you saw everyone else's reactions?"

Bobby looked down at his attire. "You really could have told me to dress up a little," he snarked.

"Yeah, well, you look...comfortable." Sam took Bobby's hand just long enough to lead him out from behind the divider, then released it. They stood and watched people walk by Sam's picture, after Sam gave a nod over to the area.  A couple people met their eyes, recognized Bobby, probably thanks to the fact he was the only one in a damn cap. Bobby yanked the cap off, sort of flattened it against his chest, and swallowed, wishing he was anywhere else.

He'd faced Hell. This should have been a cakewalk.

It was not a damn cakewalk.

Sam slowly led him closer, until he could see the piece. They were still far from being Up Close and Personal with it, but Bobby could see the way people were studying it.

A man about Sam's age came up behind Sam, pat him on the back. "Good work, Sam," he said. He glanced at Bobby. "And this was your model?"  He offered his hand to Bobby, who stared at it for a second. Must be the professor. Carefully, Bobby shook his hand.

"This is Professor Neilson," Sam explained. "And this is Bobby."

"Sam tells me you held that expression pretty much the whole time. I don't think I could have done it!"

"Yeah, well," Bobby shrugged, "from the looks of you, people would have preferred it if you'd have tried."

Professor Neilson narrowed his eyes in confusion.

Sam laughed nervously. "Uh. He wasn't sure about the whole modeling thing. I don't think people are judging you though, Bobby. No one besides you, anyway."

"Yeah, well, I'll just paint _you_ next time," Bobby groused, but then he stiffened and got quiet as a woman stepped closer, her heels clicking, her eyes crinkling as she smiled.

She stood next to Professor Neilson. "Jenny," the professor said, "this is Sam."

"And you're over there," she said to Bobby. "Did you paint him, Sam?"

Sam nodded.

"Great job. And you," she said to Bobby, "you've got a great build for modeling." Bobby, instantly suspicious, wondered what she was up to.

Professor Neilson laughed. "Jenny's trying to find a replacement model."

"Yeah, well, I'm not it," Bobby said quickly. "I've gotta...go." He made a beeline for the front doors.

"I've gotta...follow him," Sam said, but first he explained, "It's not anything you said. It's just, I should have painted someone else. He thinks he's, like...unattractive."

"That's...insane," Jenny said bluntly. "He's anything but."

"Tell me about it!" said Sam.

"I mean it about the modeling thing. He's got great lines, and he can obviously hold a pose. You look like you could hold still for a long time too. Am I wrong?"

Sam raised an eyebrow. "No, you're not. You know, I'd consider it," he said, and she had him wait a minute while she found her card.

"Go after him," Jenny said. "Nice meeting you, Sam. And you can let him know from me that I think he has great features."

Sam chuckled. "I will," he said.

***

"I'm really sorry, Bobby. I didn't mean to upset you," Sam said.

"I know, I know." Bobby sighed. "I'm just old and tired, is all. Never been much of a looker, either."

'Well," Sam said, "to me you are."

"And I'm sure there's no haze of love biasing that at all. It's fine, Sam. A little experiment we won't repeat."

"I've sketched you before, you know."

"What?"

"Uh." Sam sighed. "Hold that thought, okay?" He went to grab a couple of his sketchbooks. He thumbed through them, showing Bobby some still lifes of the kitchen and the books, of Bobby's guns, and amid the still lifes a lot of sketches of Dean and Bobby. Sometimes, Bobby was working on a car. In at least one, he had to be asleep. In one where Bobby was nursing a broken wrist, Bobby was pretty sure he'd been watching one of those Spanish soap operas and trying to be a man about it.

"You told me you weren't."

"Yeah, well," Sam shrugged.

Bobby noted the care taken with the sketches all of a sudden. "You...you really wanted to get it right."

"I wanted to capture...you. Bobby, I love you," Sam swallowed. "I love all of your...your features, and the way you grit your teeth, the way you curse at engines, the way you laugh when you crack jokes like they're the best in the world." Sam smirked. "I love all of you, your beard, the lines on your face, your smelly hats, your hairline, the way you don't see how cool you are, and the way that, sometimes, you see it."

Bobby pulled the sketchbook nearest him closer, thumbing through it himself in silence.

"Hell, I'd sketch you naked sometime."

Bobby looked up quick at that. " _No_ ," he enthused.

Sam held up his hands in front of him. "Only if you'd allow it. When it came to that, I promise you, I'd never sketch you without your permission. I figured at least working on the cars was kind of fair game."

Bobby relaxed a little. "You are so cracked in the head," he complained.

"I'd let you sketch _me_ naked," Sam challenged.

"Oh, right, cause that wouldn't be just another way to show me up, in body and in talent."

" _Bobby_."

Bobby's expression softened. "Well," he admitted, "I guess I can't say you're as comfortable with yourself as, say, Dean. But, still, you're...you know."

"Yeah, Bobby," Sam nodded. "And so are you."

***

"Stop fidgeting."

"I can't get comfortable," Sam whined.

"Well I can't draw you if you keep moving. Drawin' all this muscle ain't easy. Not that you'd know."

"But you're more cuddly," Sam pointed out.

"We're not really cuddlers," Bobby countered.

"Fair point." Sam stayed silent and tried to stay very still.

***

"Conclusion? I suck at drawing shit. What a fucking revelation."

Sam smirked. "It doesn't suck. Honestly. It's rough, and some of the proportions are off, but I was even worse off when I started that drawing class. It's really okay, Bobby."

"So what was the point of doing that again? Besides making you sit around shirtless on my sofa?"

Sam smiled. "The point was, you tried to be careful, and not just to do well. Cause you like me. Cause you wanted to capture me the same way I want to capture you."

"That's true," Bobby admitted.

"And you took special care with that scar right there," Sam pointed it out on the page, "even though if you didn't know it was there you wouldn't have drawn it. Thanks, Bobby," Sam praised, grinning at the sketch. "This is awesome."

Bobby tugged the sketchbook close again, found one of his favorites, the broken wrist one. "You really drew me when I was about to cry over some damn show?"

"No part of you, absolutely no tiny little secret piece of your heart, thinks that's kind of awesome, in the same way knowing I have a scar right there is awesome?"

Bobby's lip slowly quirked up. "No," he said. "None of me. All of me thinks you're the worst. What a man does in the privacy of his own home doesn't need to be captured in graphite."

But he looked up at Sam, and he was pleased. 

Sam set the drawing down and pulled Bobby close, cuddling him for a minute, and neither of them wanted to pull away, somehow more comfortable with their bodies than they'd once been.

Bodies, after all, are meant to be taken care of for a reason. We only have the one, and it's the only one we get. We can supe it up, but we can't trade it, and the smartest thing, and sometimes the hardest thing, is to love it despite its flaws.

And, sometimes, if someone else loves it first, with a love that surpasses the physical lines and delves into the motive behind expressions and gestures and poses, that can pave the way.


End file.
